


What's Your Worth?

by em_bezzlement



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, M/M, Sort Of, The Author Regrets Nothing, look this is the result of a fever dream and i'm just rolling with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29797989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_bezzlement/pseuds/em_bezzlement
Summary: They were a recently common occurrence, these nightmares, showcasing a few moments of his childhood that he’d rather bury in six feet of concrete. The dreams drained him and coffee runs had lost their potency relatively early - Zenigata succumbing to another nightmare even in the daylight hours despite the buckets of caffeine that he was pumping into his system. A week he had endured, and it was eating away at his spirit.What could Lupin possibly hope to accomplish, waltzing into Zenigata's life like he can steal the past away?
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Zenigata Kouichi
Kudos: 15





	What's Your Worth?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna say this now and then throw this monstrosity of a fic out into the world: the Lupin twitter community is amazing. Cheers to a fabulous Luzeni Day even though I am submitting my creation rather late. It's rough, I'll admit. The old fanfic bones need a little stretching.
> 
> *Edited on 3/4 because I noticed that in the summary I originally wrote "eating away at his spirt" instead of spirit* XD

Beneath a high rise of artificial trees and dimmed saturated lights were four children, still and unmoving. Some with scrapped elbows and knees, one with a reddened, raw cheek. The four of them sat in a spacious yet crudely painted room, neon green slathered on the cement floor and lower walls – baby blue paint with speckles of white stretching up into a ceiling that spanned the length of a football field. 

Seemingly frozen, that is, until one of the children slowly blinked. Stiff fingers flexed and arms twisted to break out of the invisible hold that encased the others in ice, bent legs fidgeting to straighten. After what felt like an eternity, the boy was able to collapse out of his sitting position and lay spread eagle on the floor – his ragged breathing causing his whole body to rise and fall in shuddering motions. He wheezed, eyelids closing for a moment out of pure exhaustion. 

_How…do…we…get…home?_

_Hurry…they’ll…be…back._

_Why…aren’t…you…moving?_

The boy clamped trembling hands over his ears as three sets of voices, all children, whispered, frantic and growing even more terrified as the seconds passed. They were being so mean, asking for help when he didn’t know how to give any. He was just as trapped as the other three. 

_She…left…us…here._

_Help…us…Koichi._

“I don’t know how,” Koichi whined. He flopped to his side in a fetal position, suddenly interested in studying the pockmarks that littered his arms. They hurt when prodded. Sometimes he gave up and scratched, then he would stiffen, seeing the flash of thin metal and feeling the ghost of a touch on his shoulders – a firm grip holding him still. Koichi leaned close to a raw patch of skin, eyelashes tickling his wrists as he tried to peer into the small holes. 

“Ko?” 

One of the voices had become unexpectedly solid, while the two others faded into the background of Koichi’s mind. They continued to speak softly to each other. 

“Koichi, are you awake? I can’t sleep, cause my brain never sleeps,” his shoulder was lightly shaken, the other, a girl his mind supplied, was kneeling a foot away from his back. “And I was hoping you would tell me one of your mama’s stories.”

Despite not knowing her name, he whispered, “Matsuko, leave me alone. If we make too much noise, they’re gonna get mad.” 

The shaking stopped as she removed her hands, and Koichi feared, for a brief moment, that his quick tempered reply caused her leave, alone once again with nothing but the voices. All thanks to his refusal of companionship. Unintentional tears began to build up and he quickly tried to sniff them away – the firm reprimands of his father reminding him that men didn’t cry. Instead, the thought of his father hastened the tears, and Koichi let them flow in earnest with the reassurance that the unknown girl wouldn’t see him cry in the low lighting. 

_I’m…scared._

_… Lonely._

“Ya,” Koichi agreed with the twin whispers, allowing the realization to wash over him that he wanted the girl’s comfort more than his pride. He hesitantly turned to face her. 

The girl, Matsuko, scooted her knees closer as he rolled over, bending her head down to study his face and the glistening tear tracks down his cheeks. Koichi realized her eyes were a piercing emerald green and quite similar to the earrings his mother would wear, having spent many hours sitting beside her chair and watching them dance about her shoulders. She seemed to regard him with the same consideration, both mimicking the other’s breathing patterns to calm frayed nerves.

Koichi then reached out a hand to Matsuko. But she, to his shock, flinched backwards. 

_He'll...hear...us!_

She stared at his hands, aghast, jerking away when he attempted to move towards her. Koichi was confused, but more so he was hurt by the hostile reaction from someone who he regarded as safe. Anger quickly replaced confusion, and he slapped his hands down on the cement floor to stand-

_Stop…it!_

Matsuko screamed, and Koichi looked down, practically having to peel his palms off the floor and feeling the skin of his hands stretch - leaving two perfect bloody handprints. It was all a dream, it had to be. Yet if it was, he couldn’t consciously will himself to wake up. He could only lie back and let the sweeping currents of his untethered mind carry him away. 

“It’s like shooting a dog,” hot breath cascaded down his skin, causing the back of his neck to break out into goosebumps. Koichi quickly looked to the side, attempting to find a body for the incorporeal voice. 

His mind had traitorously supplied a stranger with the puppet strings. 

“What’s the matter, Zeni-babe?” 

-and Zenigata awoke a shivering mess, feeling sweat coat his face and collarbone as he lied back in a bed much too constraining, the sheets heavy, like a hand tightening its grip on his chest. He felt as if he were a stranger in a body that didn’t seem to fit. 

“Fuck.” Zenigata breathed, head pushing deeper into an over fluffed pillow and trying to block out the previous nightmare. Another this past week. The bed had to be too comfy, was the sudden intrusive thought - admittedly he was not used to sleeping in such luxury. Too often was he dumped at two-star hotels when on an Interpol budget. But now, here in this five-star suit between the border of Monaco and Italy, Zenigata was without Interpol assistance and perhaps missed the too thin walls that barely muffled the snores of his men. 

It was not long past 6 in the morning, he discovered, when he strained to peer at the clock. Zenigata groaned and slumped forward, dropping his head into his hands to ruffle loose hair, appreciating the sensation of running fingers along his scalp and scratching the base of his neck. 

_Get up_ , his mind insisted, _you don’t have much time left._

Such a restless feeling continued to unsettle him, nestled in his subconsciousness like a string connected to the base of his skull. It tugged, and Zenigata could not resist delving into morbid thoughts as he moved to the edge of the bed, thinking back to missed opportunities. Lupin’s name was a curse on his tongue. Yet, Zenigata wanted to utter it like a prayer to calm his rapid pulse. 

_Enough_. He gripped his knees as he banished the desire and rose rather sluggishly from the bed. While shuffling over to the bathroom on the other side of the room, upon nearing the window, Zenigata’s pace stuttered. Slivers of gray light were already starting to bleed through the curtains, and reaching forward, he used two fingers to part the heavy cloth. 

And saw a yellow fiat parked directly under his room, barely noticeable in the glow of the rising sun. 

“Fuck!” He cursed once again, jerking back to take stock of his surroundings, just then spotting a figure in the shadows leaning against the room’s entrance. There was no other suspect, but Zenigata still let out a strangled, “Lupin!” regardless of the obviousness of it all. 

“You weren’t there.” 

Lupin had the uncanny tendency of catching him off guard, and Zenigata froze at the sheer emotion emanating from the man’s thin frame. Lupin was furious, Zenigata now noticed with a hint of shock. His hands twitched as if to clench, a snarl lay discreetly on that chameleon face, and though he was initially in a state of uncanny stillness, Lupin began to shift his weight from one side to the other. 

“Wasn’t what?” 

“Nantes!” Lupin clarified, balling his hands into fists, “There was a Paul Ruben piece with my name on it, and you didn’t even bother to show up for the heist yesterday! Instead, I find you staying in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere-“

He was advancing closer to Zenigata, dress shoes harshly clacking on the hardwood floor. Lupin’s sharp suit was a stark contrast to the oversized sweatpants and fluffy socks that muffled Zenigata’s own retreat, “-and you have the audacity to act surprise. Like I wouldn’t…” 

It was the almost confession that slowed Lupin to a grinding halt. As if he were going to admit that he worried about the older man, that he would run looking for him when Zenigata had done the same time and time again. Lupin had always childishly refused to play the tom cat. 

“Lupin,” Zenigata said to catch the thief’s attention, anticipating a pair of mismatched gray irises to focus on him, “Let me be, just for a couple of days. I’m off Interpol salary right now”

“That’s never stopped you from coming after me before.”

Zenigata laughed, though it wasn’t kind. Instead, it sounded awfully hollow, “What use am I to you, or even against you, really?”

One of Lupin’s eyebrows raised. For a split second he was fascinated by a beauty mark that rested above Zenigata’s right peck, “You're exactly what I need, old man, so stop being evasive.” 

Which initially caused Lupin to inwardly scoff at the thought, though now he couldn’t help but notice the way the cop wouldn’t stand to his full height – back slumped and fingertips grazing the wall for leverage. Zenigata was still covered in sweat from when he woke, and Lupin followed a bead rolling down the side of the others neck. Why such things like a beauty mark or a bead of sweat be able to capture his interest so thoroughly was beyond him, but he was enraptured by the little discoveries he found on Zenigata’s body. 

“Old-” Zenigata scoffed right back, ignoring the way his heart missed a beat and rather not pointing out that he was only five years Lupin’s senior. Lupin would ignore his defensive remarks regardless of their credibility. 

Unlike Lupin’s inner revelation, Zenigata was beginning to become more uncomfortably aware of his appearance. Of the decade old sweatpants that sagged on his frame and the lack of shirt in the chilly spring morning – especially when compared to the clothing that Lupin always kept strangely well pressed for a man with his mobile lifestyle. 

Lupin huffed a, “So,” his anger having diminished some. He couldn’t stay mad at Pops for long anyways, “Spill it. What’s got Interpol’s finest so distracted that he couldn’t spare time for me? These solo heists are special, after all.” 

Special, eh? Quite frankly, that was a lie. Zenigata was sure that the thief was just desperate for any kind of attention. 

But Zenigata didn’t answer immediately, thumbing the wall and staring off into space. Would it be so hard to lie like Lupin did to him? His gaze rested on the smaller man whose arms were crossed in wait, a hip cocked to the side. Information was like jewels to the thief, something to be horded. 

“It’s complicated,” Zenigata admitted, slumping down further in defeat and wishing for an early drink. He jerked his head to the dining area, and Lupin obliged him, the two of them rather awkwardly navigating to a pair of armchairs situated around a small coffee table. Zenigata let his chin fall into his hands once seated, “Alright, here’s what I’m working with - I discovered a pair of childhood friends of mine had gone missing a few days ago, and immediately asked to be assigned to their local case in Greece. I was denied.” 

Lupin sat with his legs crossed and nodded, silently agreeing with the decision Zenigata’s had superiors made. He had an image to maintain as the gentleman thief, however, and wouldn’t admit to Zenigata’s face that he was a selfish bastard, “You are the only one who can _handle_ my case, chances are they wouldn’t take you off so easily.” 

“I would have also been considered compromised.” 

Lupin snorted, “Aren’t you already?” 

“Shut up, you monkey,” said the larger man, sinking into worn leather cushions and while trying to suppress a smile. But it never had a chance, gone as his eyebrows furrowed, “There were three others who were like blood to me, where we all lived in the same town for a while when I was a child. The twins, Nikos and Eleni, they’re who I need to find. We-“

He turned his head to clear his throat, his line of sight repeatedly darting from the coffee table to Lupin. 

“We went through something awful - the four of us - when we were still too young to understand. And if they’re in some kind of danger something might come looking for me real soon, but I can't stop - see, I’m just so close, Lupin.” 

_What difference does it make if I’m pushing myself to the limit, because you’ve rendered me numb?_

Zenigata didn’t know what sort of reply he was expecting, but his heart dropped when Lupin drawled out a _Pops_ , and the thief looked amused, eyes half lidded. He knew he did not have to cater to the whims of Lupin the Third, even if sometimes, albeit rarely, he wished to be of equal value to the treasure that Lupin stole. 

Though that was an admission Zenigata would take to his grave. 

“Hey hey, holdup,” Lupin said, holding his hands up to placate the other man, “All I’m saying is that I’ve looked into your history. I wouldn’t have missed something like this. 

“Lu - you fucking dug into my private life?”

Lupin lips curled and he laced his fingers together, elbows digging into the arms of the seat. “Of course,” he added, like he didn’t just admit to violating Zenigata’s privacy, “Only with the best intentions.” 

Zenigata wasn’t as amused by the thief’s sudden bout of honesty, “Lupin, I’m this close to throwing you out of the room. I’m serious.” 

“And let you go back to bumming it out in a place you suspiciously can’t afford? Nah, I don’t think – uh, Pops, your fingers are touching.” 

“Exactly,” which was the only warning Lupin had before Zenigata leapt out of his chair to grab him by the front of his jacket, lifting him up and dragging him over the coffee table. To Lupin, in that moment, the weakness he saw in the other man had disappeared, but Zenigata knew that he was exerting a tremendous amount of energy when he had little to spare. His arms burned as he pulled Lupin closer, and his back ached as he hoisted the smaller man up and over his shoulder. 

In his defense, Lupin wasn’t exactly making it easy. 

“I’ll scream fire, old man! I - _Whoa_ , watch where you put those hands!” 

A lamp became the victim of Lupin’s left foot as he reared it back to kick his assailant, at the same time one of his arms wrapped around Zenigata’s head to pull on the man’s hair – thin fingers looping themselves in black strands normally slicked down. Zenigata groaned as Lupin dragged his head forward an uncomfortable degree. Both were wide eyed, all bared teeth, succumbing to a familiar dance that could be tipped in favor for one or the other – and to Zenigata’s misfortune Lupin escaped his clutches once again, bouncing out of the cop’s grip and leaving the other holding nothing but his red jacket. 

“Shall we pla – _shit!_ ” 

His luck didn’t last for long as Zenigata used his bodily weight to slam Lupin against the nearest surface, bending him backwards against the side of the chair and hands catching the thief’s wrists to hold them above his head. They were panting heavily, Lupin less so from the physical strain that fighting brought. Even a furious Zenigata was compelled to admit that he felt a rush of adrenaline when he came toe to toe with such an unstoppable force. 

“You asked,” Zenigata heaved, “I’m cornered, head barely above water. So, for once I opened up to you, bared my desperation, and you threw it back in my face.” 

“Why’d you lie to me then, Pops?” 

Zenigata let go of Lupin as if he were burned by such a question, and Lupin pulled his arms closer to his chest, unconsciously rubbing the tension out of his wrists. He watched curiously as the other man trudged over to a pile of clothing unceremoniously thrown at the foot of the bed. 

Because Zenigata was dying - he suspected the others were feeling similar symptoms, and it would only be a matter of time. The best type of lies were those partially obscured by the truth. Lupin knew this all too well.


End file.
